


Lex Talionis

by bascara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:57:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bascara/pseuds/bascara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny takes position as DADA teacher when transported to 1943, as she tries to find a way back to a better future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Embark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny's arrival and new beginnings.

At first, she's senseless. Time and space were unknown. Then, like a gong, it returned. A chill permeated and burnt her as hairs crept up. Bile rose. Blind, she stumbled forth. Something gripped her within, stirring a feverish sweat.

'It was all so wrong.'

Ginny gagged, puking as she held something solid. Leaves and soil and bloodied trainers were stained with the acidic yellow.

'When did I get into the Forest?'

It was dark with only her lit wand bringing sight. Then, heavy footfall. She spun, aiming her wand's light defensively.

"Are yer a'right?" a familiar voice asked.

Her wand lowered as she gaped: a teenage Hagrid. He's close enough for her to have seen his unwrinkled skin beside his furrowed brow. Holding a lantern up, he eyed her jeans with concern.

"How yer so hurt?"

She looked down to the see gashes across her legs. The denim was nearly red.

She couldn't gather words of sense, disoriented and numb with blood loss.

"Let's get you to a medi-wizard!"

Nodding in reply, she nearly jumped when one large hand-picked her up into larger arms.

"Yer in no state to walk," Hagrid commented. "It's quicker this way."

Delirium had taken her its host. Scattering her thoughts, she took no notice of what he was saying, nor her replies. Her head lolled back as she stared up at the sky. The sky was shielded by the dense overgrowth of trees, moving by fast. Too fast, her gaze unfocused and dizzying as Hagrid rushed his pace. Still, she stared up, searching for each rare peek of indigo. Suddenly, the sky was exposed. She bathed in the sight of constellations and the full moon for a short time, because just as suddenly the next scene came to view. Burning warmth seared her skin as she's greeted with the familiar stone ceiling. She felt herself smile, the first sincere one since Then.

She closed her eyes, content.

* * *

 

Bright light assaulted her cringing eyes, and she groaned. Waiting a beat, she opened them again to squint at her surroundings: a familiar set of white curtains were drawn, enclosing a small space of a single white-clad bed and bedside. Her wand lay on the bedside, alongside an empty glass and the Daily Prophet. She picked it up, expecting to see the usual propaganda printed in His reign. Yet, plastered as a headline: Grindelwald Strikes with Albanian Massacre. Shock gripped her. She looked at the top right corner. July 24th, 1945.

This was all so disorientating.

Shaken, she flipped through the rest of the newspaper, briefly looking at the headlines: from Crabbe: "Werewolf Control Now!" to Ballycastle Bats Win Season. Though mostly, it reported the Revolution of Grindelwald and politics she knew nothing of.

It struck so suddenly, she nearly thought she'd scream: 1943. He would be here. She wheezed, shaking, barely setting the newspaper down on the bedside. Her unsteady hands magicked the glass full of water and she gulped it down. Closing her eyes, she could only to see that smirk. That smirk would have been the last thing she saw if it wasn't for Harry. Her breath caught when she thought of him, her dead Harry. And she felt her slipping back into the memories. She heard the screams, tasted the blood, felt the feeling of a thousand knife driving—

Suddenly, the curtains opened and there appeared three men and a woman. Her sorrow doubled amongst her confusion when one figure was unmistakably Dumbledore. His eyes did not twinkle but were fixed to her with unease.

A young, handsome man in white robes addressed her. "Hello, I'm Monsieur Merrithew. I've been looking after you the past few days."

'Days?'

"Yes," he replied. Ginny hadn't realised she'd voiced her question. "Three. That was a very dark spell you encountered."

She drank, not wanting to reply.

"You're lucky Professor Dumbledore was here at the time."

She tried not to look at him - to give away what she knows. Instead, she surveyed them all. The first was a stout, elderly man with long grey hair and a long grey beard. In the middle was a clean-shaven Dumbledore: his hair was an unrecognisable brilliant auburn. To his right was a young black-haired woman, whose face resembled a Knut both in shape and shade. Each one of them was studying her intently. The elderly man stepped forward, holding an air of importance. "Suppose we should introduce ourselves. I'm Professor Armando Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

The woman introduced herself as Professor Mariana Dionne and lastly, Dumbledore introduced himself in soft tones.

Dippet asked, "Now it only is polite for you to introduce yourself."

Ginny paused, debating whether to lie or not. "That's tricky..."

Dippet pressed her further, "You cannot expect me to overlook a very injured woman - by a very powerful Dark spell, no less! – in our Forbidden Forrest during the summer holidays."

They looked expectant.

"I'm Ginny W." She stopped herself from biting her lip nervously, taking a deep breath. "I'm not sure why I'm here, at Hogwarts in 1945."

Dippet eyebrows rose, yet the rest of the party remained stoic.

"I can't remember what happened that lead me here... but, where I came from none of you were my Hogwarts teachers."

"So you happened to travel here from the future?" Dumbledore asked.

She nodded.

"What year?" Dippet inquired.

She hesitated, unsure. After some calculation, she figured it had been: "2001".

Dippet's eyes budged and Monsieur Merrithew looked equally as startled.

Unfazed, Professor Dionne severely said, "The only way to return you to your time is knowing how you got here."

Ginny blinked. She'd hardly considered going home. It wasn't desirable for her in the least.... Something clicks. "Is there any way to help me recall my memories?"

"I know of a few methods," Dumbledore said. "It will take much time to test each one."

Another click. Ginny eagerly turned to Dippet, "Is there any positions for me to work at Hogwarts? I don't think I could get a job and afford to live without my proper qualifications on me..."

He coughed in surprise at her directness, not dislike. He answered her request, "We haven't filled out our Defence Against the Dark Arts position yet." Her grin faded when he added, "Though we have many others in mind. Seeing as you don't have credentials on you, if you prove yourself in an advanced test, you'll be considered among the others." He'd failed to mention how undesirable the others were - corrupted Aurors and Grindelwald supports. They were hardly safe candidates for students.

He studied her, "What does the W. stand for? What is your age? Blood-status?"

She looked away, uncomfortable particularly by the last question. "19 years old. And I'd rather not answer the other two."

She hadn't thought of the era. Would he only hire a pure-blood? That would very easily give away her identity. She wished she hadn't hinted her surname. 

He sighed heavily. "You'll have to tell me if you get the position."

The three Professors seemed satisfied enough to leave her with Monsieur Merrithew.

* * *

 

During her time with Monsieur Merrithew, it had become quite clear that she would have to be given Sleepless Draughts for her stay there. He was reluctant at to use the potion with the other potions, for fear of causing an addiction. Yet, as her night terrors had become so severely violent, he could not refuse the medication.

After several more days of dreadful concoctions, Ginny was free to leave the hospital wing. Kindly enough, Dippet had given her a pair of plain, modest robes to replace her dirtied, shredded clothes. Her trainers, however, had simply been cleaned. Ginny wasn't annoyed by the mismatched pairing. War-time hiding and her family's wealth had made her expectations much lower.

At first, she wasn't sure what to do: it was still the summer holidays so Hogwarts was empty of company, despite a fair few. Thinking back on Dippet, he hadn't mentioned anything about whether she could stay her or when her test would be. She pondered whether he was in Dumbledore's Office – well, the Headmaster's. She lingered outside the Hospital Wing for some time, debating to ask Monsieur Merrithew.

The thought crept in the recesses of her mind: where would she go?

Homeless, moneyless, contactless. Without an identity that would stand in the Ministry or a job, she'd be reduced to the streets. And then, how would she get back home? Nagging in her mind was the promise that Dumbledore would not let that happen, yet knew he had limits. Everything was riding on this test.

She decidedly walked to her left, and wandered around the castle, thinking about old times. Every corner promised a new memory: her first kiss to Dean, hexing Slytherins, their Quidditch win of the season. But, Hogwarts had been a battle-ground: she recalled a detention with Carrow, Luna's screams as they blinded her, the thud of Harry's body hitting the ground. They flashed to her mind, and more, as she circled the grounds.

She was outside when she spotted a hulking figure outside a hut. She smiled to herself; she wasn't as close to him as Harry, Ron and Hermione, but she could appreciate how the man was nothing but soft. Ginny had been privy to all information around the Chamber of Secrets – where it was, who had killed, and who was framed. It had been 1943 when he had opened and closed the Chamber, so perhaps it'd been two years Hagrid staying here. She knew best not interfere in the past too much, but looking at the figure outside caring for a hippogriff, she knew he must be lonely. She made her way down towards the hut in little time.

Noticing her, he smiled shyly. She smiled brightly back, and began: "I just wanted to thank for helping me in the Forest."

He blushed, "Think nothing thing of it."

It was curious to see the old man so much younger than her, bringing a mirthful smile to her face.

"Do you work here?"

"Yes," Hagrid said. "I'm Ogg's assistant, see. When I'm of age, he'll retire and I'll be groundskeeper."

She nods, "I might be working here too, as a Defence Against the Dark Arts. I just need to do a test with Dippet".

Hagrid and she exchanged pleasantries until an old hunched over wizard came out of the hut, yelling at Hagrid for slacking. 'He must be Ogg', she thought, remembering fondly of her grandparents' description of their groundskeeper. Apologising, she left Hagrid and returned to the castle, heading back to the Hospital Wing. She'd ask Monsieur Merrithew whether Dippet was in his office or not. However, when she arrived, she saw that he was there.

Dippet cried out upon seeing her, "Ah. Exploring the grounds, I see."

Ginny nodded. "Well needed fresh air after being cooped in here for a week."

He asked, "Do you feel well rested enough for the test?"

Ginny blinked, surprised by his directness.

Dippet continued, "I sure you understand this school cannot afford to house risky fugitives." His tone indicated for her to confirm, but silence greeted him. "The robes were a courtesy; the rest of your stay relies on your test."

"Yes," Ginny nodded, her suspicions proven right. She was ready as she'd ever been.

He escorted down the corridor, explaining along the way: "At Hogwarts, the curriculum is divided into Dark Creatures and Spells. You will need a vast knowledge of each to teach all seven year-groups." Ginny considered whether she was over her head here, yet trusted she was well practised from surviving Dark Wizards. She'd never thought herself the academic type; it was much more Hermione's thing. "I expect a strong knowledge on fifth, sixth, and seventh-year curriculum - considering their exams - so will be testing you on that today. Given you pass, you should already know - or will easily be able to grasp - first to fourth-year curriculum."

Ginny inquired, "Will it be written or practical?"

"Verbal and practical - you need to show your knowledge is from the top of your head."

They entered a familiar classroom to find the two Professors she'd previously seen, Dumbledore and Dionne.

"They will be your judges today."

Firstly, they became with a verbal quizzing on Dark Creatures, with a demonstration of the incarnation used to deter them.

"Tell us all there is to know about Dementors."

Recalling her second-year, Ginny listed all she knew. She felt very much like Hermione then, without ever really considering how much information she held on the subject. She produced the Patronus Charm, and galloping across the room was a white horse. It ran around the Professors and her twice before fading, and they all looked fairly impressed at her abilities.

She was then shown a diagram of a dreadfully familiar creature. When asked what, she answered, "Inferi. Necromancy from dark wizards reanimates these corpses, mostly into groups. They cannot feel pain; only light and heat can deter them. For lesser groups, an Incedio will suffice."—she produced it—"Yet in more pressing situations, a Turbignis will be needed. To escape the burning army, Partis Temporus helps part the ring of fire."

Dippet interjected, "The Firestorm Charm isn't in the Ministry of Magic's curriculum. Though, I'm rather impressed a girl your age knows it."

Ginny furrowed her brows. She had to have known it when He wantonly used armies of them to help round up the remaining resistance.

"It should be," Ginny argued. "From what I've been reading in the papers, Grindelwald has been using Inferi."

That political note left a rather cold silence in the room, and she sneaked a glance at Dumbledore. He looked grave. "A well-thought point, Ginny. Yet, I doubt the Ministry would approve of such a complex and dangerous spell being taught in the classroom."

The Professors continued for much time questioning her until Dionne stepped forth announcing they would begin the practical on Spells with duelling. Ginny had figured she was her partner as the two wizards were far too experienced dueling partners.

After bowing, Professor Dionne immediately aimed a jet of red at her.

'She's not holding off at all.'

Ginny wordlessly cast a Shield Charm, sending Dionne's spell back at her. Dionne swiftly cast, "Armarus." A burning shield appeared before her and the jinx was incinerated.

Ginny blasted a purple bolt of the Bat-Bogey Hex, yet Dionne side-stepped. In quick time, she transfigured her notes on parchment into ceramic plates. With a silent Oppungo, Dionne sent plates flying at her. Her turquoise Impediment Jinx helped slow the plates as she cast a "Reducto Maxim!" Ginny hit several plates, bursting them into pieces. Dionne wordlessly summoned the pieces into the air around her and sent them hailing for Ginny. Ginny effortlessly Stupefied the pieces, then vanished them.

A sweating Dionne strained out, "Diminuendo!"

Ginny shouted an "Expelliarmus" to match. Both managed to dodge the other's spell.

A white flash rushed for her. She would have dodged again if it wasn't for Dippet's incarnation of "Capulla Arma". A yellow tinted bubble surrounded her and she couldn't move out of it, let alone cast a spell. Yet when the spell hit the bubble, it popped leaving her unscathed.

"Too far, Professor Dionne," Dippet said. "We're expecting a Defence teacher, not another patient in the Medical Room". Dippet turned to her, evaluating her. "Your knowledge is fair, but more depth will be needed. It's important to teach the history of Spells and Dark Creatures as well. As for your duelling skills, simply magnificent! Your footwork is great, as is your nonverbal spell work and speed."

He turned to Dumbledore and Dionne. "It's time for us to decide now if you don't mind. I'll see you in the Hospital Wing."

Ginny nodded, famished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turbignis - my attempt to name the incarnation for Fire Storm spell used by Dumbledore.  
> Capulla Arma - a bubble which traps but shields its target.  
> Armarus - fire shield charm; unlike Protego, there's no chance of bouncing back a spell as it incinerates the magic.
> 
> This is my first fanfic so please forgive any spelling errors. I'd love if anyone left me honest feedback. Thanks for reading! :)  
> This chapter is mostly pre-Ton stuff to get out the way, so the pacing may be a little rushed.


	2. Path of the Righteous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny's first day at Hogwarts.

After Dippet had given her the job, she was allowed to stay at Hogwarts. They had shown her to her own bedroom and had a house elf to make her food till Hogwarts began. He had kindly given her first month's wages in advance, a generous sum. This had enabled her to buy appropriate robes of the time, as well as all her needed teaching materials. She had told the truth about her name and heritage ('Weasley, Pureblood'), and he had managed to give her documents that proved her Septimus Weasley's illegitimate half-blood daughter.

With it just being August, she had enough time to settle her thoughts on what she'd do in this era. It was an opportunity she had dreamt about, to snip it in the bud. Voldemort will die by her hands. Rehabilitation hadn't even flicked through her mind - he had already made a Horcrux, so beyond hope.

She debated her options:

1\. Out-right attack

Despite her Gryffindor desires, she couldn't kill him with guns blazing. She had to be systematic and methodical if she wanted to find his Horcruxes. Though she knew of the Diary, she did not know how many there were and where they laid.

2\. Observe, then attack

Remain in an appropriate teacher-student relationship, biding time and gaining information. This way too offered her time to improve her skills in duelling, perhaps with tutoring from Dumbledore. She hadn't an ounce of skill in Occlumency, and while her spells were powerful, Riddle was the Dark Lord in the making. Besides, the only person she could recall being on par with Him was Dumbledore; he had held his ground in a duel in the Ministry Atrium. 'Desirable, though impractical.' Without Harry's cloak or the map, gaining information would be trickier with higher stakes. One wrong move and her work gone.

3\. Befriend him

Despite the revolting thought, she knew it played best with her hand. Harry told her he was a teacher's pet, so manipulating him into trusting her would be easier. She'd just be another gullible Slughorn, then strike at the opportune moment. Though, she'd have to be very conspicuous in her training - whether with Dumbledore or not. The Room of Requirement would work.

She settled with option three, as it guaranteed a higher chance of a dead Riddle.

Over August, Ginny had juggled her training with her organisation of lessons plans for each year group. Each has been harder than anticipated: to learn and create class plans (abiding by the Ministry Board of Education) and to master highly difficult spells non-verbally. Much of her time was spent in the library, making sure not to teach spells that hadn't been created yet and searching out powerful spells, dark or not.

Soon it was the evening of 1st September. She looked at herself in the mirror. Leaving for the room, she headed towards the Great Hall, noting outside the window the lit boats the first years were on. It wouldn't be long now. Inside the hall, she could see on the table of teachers Dippet and Dumbledore next to each other. To the right were Dinnoe and Slughorn. An empty spot resided at the other end of the table, next to three unknown faces.

She sat, and the man on her left turned to her with a suave smile. He looked in his late thirties, his sandy strands slightly greying. His eyes like a half-cut kiwi, brown rim and all, and a smile played on his face.

"Hello, I'm Bill Harrow," he greeted. "You must be Ginny Weasley".

Flickers of her eldest brother were repressed. She smiled politely, "Yes, the new Defence teacher."

"I teach History of Magic, and have been for the past ten years." His jesting eyes glistened. "It never fails to entertain."

"I find that highly unlikely, coming from a Professor in History of Magic," she teased, donning a smirk.

Harrow grinned good-naturedly, and said in mock-arrogance, "Why, I suppose you haven't been taught by the right teacher."

"So, does the magnificent Harrow have any tips for a newbie like me?" She was semi-joking.

"Confidence, consistency, communication. Maintain those and you'll be just fine." He promised earnestly.

Ginny leant forward to peer at the other occupants of the table and catching this Harrow offered to introduce her. He began, pointing at the couple next to them: "Babbling, Herbology. Such a bore."—he pointed to the dreamy woman, clothes reminiscent of Luna, beside him—"Divination and Astronomy teacher, Clearwater. Very weird."

He moved on to the next couple with a kind, admirable tone: "I'm sure you know our Headmaster Dippet teaches Charms. Dumbledore's next to him: Gryffindor Head, teaches Transfiguration."

Ginny smiled in memory of how kind the men had been to her since the accident.

His tone changed to distaste as he pointed to her old Potions teacher, "That's Slughorn, Head of Slytherin, Potions teacher, and very pretentious man. He has his own 'Slug Club'." Ginny watched as the man chuckled with delight at something Dionne had said.

"What's that?" she asked innocently, knowing his answer.

He scowled, "It's a student group for the smart and elite. Typical blood-status thing." Ginny wondered about that - in her time, he had been very inclusive.

He continued, pointing at Dionne. "Next to him is Ravenclaw's Head. She teaches Arithmancy and Ancient Ruins. Quite to herself."

Ginny noted the lack of Muggle Studies and Care for Magical Creatures, but asked only of the latter. "Ogg teaches that, though he's sure to retire soon."

Noting the absence of one head, she asked, "Who's the Head of Hufflepuff?"

He grinned cheekily, "That would be me."

The pair chatted until the students arrived. She was glad she was sitting so close to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. She could avoid Him, for at least this long. As the hall filled up, she saw this September's day from a fresh perspective. She could see the first years huddled at the door mystified by floating candles and ghosts and decor.

Dippet stood, and the Hall fell into silence almost immediately. He began a speech she'd heard very much before, so she began to turn off, still watching the first years' reactions.

She nearly jumped when she heard her fake name. Harrow's nudge sent her standing up. She surveyed the students, and a heat burnt her face. Ginny was a confident girl, but she had never had so many pairs of eyes ogling her at once. She worked her way around the tables: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. Finally, she looked over at the Slytherin table the first time that night.

She came across a pair of eyes. They were the darkest depths of blue, almost like black buttons. His irises and pupils were reminiscent of when the sea and skyline are the same shade: indistinguishable. And for a second, as she looked into to their deep depths, she felt stranded in the chill of tundra. She shivered. Fear urged her to look away, but she couldn't. Her eyes drank him in. He was the definition of Greek aesthetics: a full-lipped, cheek-chiselled, Rorschach-faced man. With the grace of a swan, his pale complexion was coldly lit by a gentle smile. Her stomach twisted at his acknowledgement of their eye contact. She masked her thoughts, returning her own convincing smile. Ginny turned her attention back to the head teacher, though her thoughts still lingered on the man.

He looked disturbingly like she remembered.

"She will be our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. She is one of the youngest witches to be teaching here at Hogwarts for many years. Please make her feel welcomed."

There sounded a small round of applause and she sat on cue.

The sorting began. It had been so unusual to be staring at the back of their heads instead of their faces. Though, she found their posture and body movements equally revealing as their facial emotions. The rigid, fidgeting first years were soon all sorted, so the meal began. For the second time that night, she couldn't help looking: she was captivated by the innocence in their first meal. She stared enviously, living vivaciously through observing their delight.

Harrow was very much talking at her about school gossip, not seeming to mind her distance. She was on her third glass of wine— a missed luxury—with a nearly untouched meal. When she had first arrived, she had been on the verge of starvation, yet she could hardly stomach eating when she saw the room's collective sense of ease. They felt emotions she hadn't in years, especially now with a mass-murderer in the room.

She found her way to her bedroom and surprisingly fell into a peaceful sleep. Tomorrow would be her first day of teaching, and nerves muddled her brain. Despite this, she found herself relaxing in her bed. 'The wine,' she blamed or rather thanked.

* * *

 

Ginny dreaded her first lesson. Of course, it had to be with the seventh years. So, of course, it had to be with Tom Riddle.

She had woken up particularly early. Dressing quickly, she made her way to the Great Hall. It was relatively sparse, populated by a few students that were mostly Ravenclaw. Only three professors sat at the teacher's table. Ginny happily noted the lack of set positions when she saw Dippet and Dionne sitting together, though they didn't speak a word to each other. All except Dippet's position moved, which remained in the middle of the seven-seater table. 'At least I can mingle'. This would be a key role in gaining Riddle's trust: to be trusted, she needed to play the part of the unsuspecting teacher. She'd fit in with the other teachers, gain a reputation from the students, and do her job correctly.

Harrow's words rang like a war cry: 'Confidence, consistency, communication'.

Though, she would be lying if it wasn't a means to soothe he loneliness. Ginny was desolate in a strange, new world. Her friends and family had either been left behind or taken from her before. She had craved human contact those many months before 1945, and her August in 1945. While conversations with Hagrid had helped, they were limited from his and her occupation in preparations for Hogwarts next school.

She made her way over the third solitary figure, who she remembered to be Professor Clearwater. She was naturally drawn to the Luna-like woman, a reminder of her dear friend.

"Hello, I'm Ginny Weasley," she said, sitting down.

A light, lyrical voice replied: "Ourania Clearwater."

"That's an unusual name," Ginny commented.

"My parents were into Greek mythology. They named me after the Muse of astronomy," Ourania said. "Fitting, isn't it?"

Ginny recalled her position as Astronomy and Divination as she filled her plate with toast and scrambled egg. "Yeah."

"Is your name short for anything?" Ourania asked, sipping her herbal tea.

"Ginvera," Ginny said, pouring the pot of herbal tea into her own teacup. "What's this?"

"Lapsang souchong," Ourania replied. "It has medicinal benefits."

She gave it a sip, enjoying the taste. "It's nice."

Ourania asked again, "Ginvera, is it?" Ginny nodded. "Or Guinevere. Wife of King Arthur. Seems the Weasley's are into the Arthurian Legends."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "What legends?"

"Muggle ones. You should read up on them, they're quite entertaining."

Ginny ate, watching the Hall fill as time went on. She had finished her tea when Ourania reached out for it. "May I?"

Ginny didn't understand but nodded. Ourania picked it up, investigating the cup.

"A broom: you have travelled to a new era in your life, a new home." She stared closer. "At the present, there are shoes. Your path is correct, so do not deviate." Now she sounded almost trance-like, "There will be a man with a dagger. He's close to you or will be - don't tell him anything personal."

Ginny frowned at this. She had never been a fan of Divination.

"Let me see," she said and glanced back at her cup. "I don't see anything like that."

"You don't see what you don't look for. Trust me, it's there."

They small talked till Ginny left, saying goodbye to Ourania. The staff table now was nearly full, as was the hall. She snuck a glance at the Slytherin table as she left. Riddle was sat in-between two men, one hulking and the other slim. They were facing three other men of varying appearance, chatting away quite happily.

She stared at the knife Riddle held in his hands.

'Man with a dagger, huh'.

As she exited the Hall and reached her classroom, Ginny reminded herself of her plan.

Step One: Fit In.

She needed to turn from mysterious new teacher to well-liked, inconspicuous professor.

When it had turned 8:30, she opened the door allowing the students to come in.

They filed in one-by-one: she noted the class was forgivably small. Only 16 students occupied it, to her great relief. Her eyes followed everyone, seeking out the black-haired boy. He was one of the last to enter, and he was talking in quiet tones to a hulking boy next to him. Tom had chosen a spot central, three rows from the front. His gaze would be inescapable. Both she looked away to her other students, trying to remain professional.

Once they had all sat down, Ginny took a deep breath. 'Remember: confidence'.

She decided to introduce herself. "I'm Professor Weasley, and I'll be your DADA this teacher this year. Seeing as I'm new, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could help me with your names." Her eyes darted around the classroom, finding pairs of eyes fixed on her. "You will not need any books or parchment today, so if you could please put those away". Many students did so as she continued. "As this is your final year, it's important that you should have mastered non-verbal spells. I trust you did some last year?" She feared an unresponsive class, but there were a few nods among the students. "Good. Can anyone tell me, then, what is needed to perform a non-verbal spell?"

Two hands were raised - Riddle's and a blonde girl. Yet one was faster than the other.

She swallowed her pride and pointed to Riddle. "Yes, Mr..."

"Riddle," he offered with a smile. "High concentration and mental discipline."

The War had made her apathetic to house rivalries, yet there remained an unpleasant taste in her faux smiling mouth: "Correct, Mr Riddle. 5 points to Slytherin."

She continued, "This can be difficult for some, so much practice is essential into mastering non-verbal spells. To make sure you’re not rusty, today's lesson you will be partnered up into duel partners. You will only be using non-verbal spells against your partner; of course, footwork can be used to dodge if said partner accomplishes it before you."

She was actually assessing a baseline of their current skills in duelling, footwork and spells. Well, His namely. The rest she did as an obligation for her cover. She looked down at her alphabetically ordered list. The class wasn't very big, with only 16 students and quite male-concentrated, with only five female students.

"Miss Abbott with Mr Yaxley," she began. She continued this pattern, pairing the top of the list with the bottom, noting a recognisable Roiser, Malfoy and Longbottom.

Riddle had been paired with Jones, the Hufflepuff girl with a prefect badge on.

She magicked away the desks, clearing enough space for the pairs to duel. Here said laid out some ground rules: "As this is NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts, I expect to see Jinxes, Curses, and Hexes. However, ensure these are spells which aren't going to get your partner in the Hospital Wing, or you a detention." Her eyes briefly made contact with Malfoy and Yaxley, who were whispering to one another. "And I shouldn't need to tell you what would happen if any of the spells are illegal."

The duelling began, and she worked her way around the class, ranking those who had successfully used non-verbal spells: Riddle was first. He had almost immediately been able to cast silently a spell - which she recognised from the wand movements and colour to be the Full Body-Bind Curse. Jones had dodged successful, trying to cast her own non-verbal to no avail. She stood, eyeing the pair: Jones had yet to cast her own non-verbal yet her stamina and footwork persisted. Riddle, on the other hand, had cast a range of spells non-verbally, as she had very much expected. Both had such commendable efforts, she stopped the pair.

"Mr. Riddle, excellence work being the first to cast a non-verbal, and with a range of spells," she said, then turning her eyes to Jones (far more eagerly), "and Miss Jones, you have fantastic stamina and footwork - the most underrated aspect of duelling - 5 points to Slytherin and Hufflepuff".

She moved on looking at the others. A successful non-verbal was followed next by Riddle's hulking friend, Yaxley. Jones, Longbottom and the other classmates soon followed, and at the end of ten minutes, all had successful casted non-verbals, but to different ranges.

She stopped them after twenty minutes, with some noted small assessments on each. "I'm going to set you all some targets on your spellwork, as to increase your effectiveness at duelling." She magically allocated each feedback slip to each desk. "Duelling is something I hope to improve from all of you before your exams, as we will be doing twenty-minute sessions of it each lesson". She watched their faces scan their allocated feedback, varying in approval. Malfoy and Longbottom looked disgruntled by there's while others look complacent. Riddle was stoic.

"Now, if you focus your attention to the front, we can begin our introduction into Inferi."

Class had ended quite pleasantly, without incident and a balanced awarding of house points. Ginny's air of confidence had given her an authority she didn't know she had. As they began packing away, she called out: "I expect a two parchment long essay on what I've talked about today for next Monday!"

As the class emptied, she began shuffling through her notes for her next class with the first years: Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Yet, a shadow cast over her parchment and she looked up. Tom Riddle was looming over her, his body millimetres from her desk. She sucked in a breath as it happened. There she was, trapped in the tundra of his eyes. Unlike before, she was closer and much smaller than him. She noticed though his eyes were as black as the deepest depths, they offered no reflection. She couldn't see herself staring into to his eyes.

'Confidence,' she reminded herself and stood. She felt relief from the barrier of the desk because she still had to look up at the taller boy.

"Mr Riddle?"

"Professor Weasley," his voice was silky and delectable. "I was curious about your feedback to me for duelling. It said: 'Faster incarnations.' I thought I was fairly fast."  
His artificial curiosity must underlay anger. She gulped.

She was alone with him.

A hummingbird heartbeat echoed in her ears, yet she answered in a controlled voice. "Well, there's no denying you’re very skilled, Mr Riddle, but everyone can improve. I can guess the spell you used by just the handwork - if you want the exploit the full use of surprise from non-verbal spells, I recommend faster incarnations."

Riddle stared at her, a smile erupting on his face. 'How disturbing'.

"Well, I understand now. That's a very thoughtful target."

Ginny said, "I hope to see my students succeed."

Riddle lent closer by a minuscule, and Ginny's breath hitched. "Is it your first time teaching, Professor?"

She rubbed her arm, unconsciously. "First lesson, actually."

"I'm surprised, you were very good."

Ginny blinked, wondering if it was glibness or sincerity. She smiled nonetheless. "Thank you, Mr Riddle."

"You seem so skilled for someone so young. Where did you study?"

"Home tutored," she lied. "My mother didn't want the distance."

"I didn't know of that sort of arrangement." There was a silent question.

He was getting rather personal.

"The Ministry's Board of Education organised something for the situation."

Riddle nodded, "Ah, I see. So this is your first time at a magical school? Enchanting, isn't it?"

"Very," Ginny managed, getting quite tense from his intrusive nature. "I got to get ready for my next class, so if you wouldn't mind..."

"Certainly." He walked to, pausing to turn and say: "Pleasure speaking to you, Professor."

He left, and Ginny felt like she could breathe again.

Tom Riddle was undeniably curious about her. Though she knew by answering his questions and playing her part, she'd became unobtrusive.

* * *

 

After a long day, Ginny made her way to her room. She collapsed into her bed. Teaching was harder and more exhausting than expected. Not all the classes had been as tame as the sixth and seventh years. The third and fifth-year classes with a Slytherin-Gryffindor mix had such furious rivalry. In fact, together the classes had caused two large-scale magical accidents causing a total of three students in the Hospital Wing.

She had kept her authority firm, and told if anyone behaved like such again they would be kicked out of her class. The other years were too meek - no one put their hands up and no one seemed to be able to perform spells well. Though this was only a cover, Ginny had to perform well to remain close to Tom - and to a further extent, be able to live well in 1945.

As much as she wanted to sleep, she knew she needed to continue with her training. In a month, Ginny had been able to do wandless magic on all the spells she knew. Although, the varied in speed and effectiveness. Pushing herself up, she changed into lighter robes, more appropriate for duelling, and headed down her corridor. Her bedroom was conveniently situated on the seventh floor, through a portrait of Phineas Bounre. She paced outside her old Dumbledore's Army's haunt, wishing for the vast layout with training targets. She entered and practised the ones she was slow on or only worked at times.

An hour later, she was exhausted and sweaty. She exited into the cold corridor, walking back to the portrait of Bourne. She turned a corner to find herself nearly crashing into a student. She halted, and he did. She worked her way up from the Slytherin tie to his face.

Of course, it was Tom Riddle.

She took a large step back, maintaining an appropriate distance.

"What are you doing out so late?" Ginny asked.

"My Head Boy duties, Professor. Rounds to make sure no students are out." His eyes glinted like the light off his metal badge as he assessed her. "Professor, you look positively feverish. Is everything alright?"

Ginny knew what she looked like: very sweaty with dishevelled robes, matted messy hair, and a flushed face. She was very far from being unobtrusive in this state at night. 'Better a teacher affair than "I'm training to kill you".'

She coughed, avoiding eye-contact. "Just in need of a shower and some rest."

A flash of a familiar smirk made her blanched. She was no longer pretending to be uncomfortable.

"Do you need me to escort you, Professor?"

She shook her head, "I'm fine. Goodnight, Mr Riddle."

"Goodnight, Professor."

She side-stepped him and tried very hard to not to run. She passed the portrait and made her way to Monsieur Merrithew.

She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight without some Sleepless Draught.


	3. Finding Footing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding footing on unlevelled foreign fields.

"So apparently we were caught shagging in the Astronomy tower Monday night."

Ginny spluttered, choking on her tea at Harrow's greeting. He sat down beside her on the staff table, compiling a plate with an English breakfast.

"Well, there's some truth to it then?" He wiggled an eyebrow suggestively. "So you chose one of those old geezers over beautiful _moi_?"

"You look in your forties," she exaggerated. "Besides, there wasn't anyone. I was practising spells."

Harrow's eyebrow raised in suspicion this time. "What for?"

"Pursuit of knowledge."

"I didn't peg you for a Ravenclaw."

"I didn't peg Hufflepuffs to be so rude."

He smiled sardonically. "Aren't teachers meant to be setting an example."

"They're rumours that you are in on, you hypocrite. Who told you that anyway?"

"Some girls in my fifth-year class were asking about it, in less crude words."

Ginny's face set in anger as she glared at the Slytherin table. The tale-teller…

"Tell me about Tom Riddle."

"Tom Riddle?" He stared over at the Slytherin table too. "Well, he's Head Boy. Polite, academic, got a bright future ahead."

"A hero too!" chimed in another, silencing Ginny's scoff.

The pair looked over at Slughorn, who was taking a seat beside Harrow.

Slughorn introduced himself, "Miss Weasley, it's an honour to meeting such a bright mind at a young age. I'm Horace Slughorn."

Ginny hadn't expected such high praise. Honestly, the only thing she excelled in was Defence Against the Dark Arts. He offered a hand, and Ginny did too. The expected handshake was replaced by pink lips meeting her hand.

Her brothers would have been in fits.

"Pleasure." Her smile hid the mix of mirth and distaste. "How so?"

"Well, he helped save the lives of Hogwarts students back in his fifth-year. And saved our jobs and the student's education: Hogwarts would have been closed down if he hadn't of caught the killer. Still, a student died, the poor dear. She's still with us."

Harrow added, "A ghost. Avoid the second-floor girl's bathroom if you know what's good for you. She never stops flooding it."

She picked at her omelette, asking, "So what was the threat?"

Slughorn grimaced, "An Acromantula. Tom found the illegal pet from a student."

"How heroic," Ginny said with such enthusiasm that it'd be taken as sarcasm in less manipulated company. Perhaps this seemed like a typical reaction from an infatuated woman.

"Yes, yes, indeed," Slughorn sang. "Why, I imagine a boy like him will be a Minister even!"

Ginny frowned. The conservation had not taught her anything new.

"What of his friends?" Riddle was still surrounded by the five she'd previously seen.

Harrow looked over, "Besides Tom are Ellis Yaxley and Brutus Nott, and across are Abraxas Mal—"

"If you want to get to know them, you can!" Slughorn interrupted. "I was thinking of having a small dinner party this Saturday in my office. It would be a get-together of select"—Harrow pulled a grimace—"students and teachers. It would be a great opportunity to meet and get to know one another. Bill could come as your beau." He winked, while Harrow pulled a face suggesting he'd rather babysit a mandrake.

"I can't, but I'm sure Ginny would love to go."

Ginny sent him a fugitive glance. Though she considered the invitation in her best interests, she wouldn't have minded the company. Slug Club parties had always been dreadfully boring.

"Marvellous!" boomed the eager Potions teacher. "Just splendid. See that you're there for seven. And you're very welcome to bring a date."

Ginny sighed, "Can we please stop talking about that rumour."

"So what rumours do you want to talk about?" Harrow asked.

Ginny wanted to stop gossiping entirely, but a thought occurred.

"Where is Dumbledore off to?"

In the past few days, Ginny had been trying to confide in the man but he remained ever elusive. She had even spent two consecutive evenings outside his office to see the sight of him. She was planning to ask Dumbledore on his progress of the memory potions, and perhaps ask if he'd train her in Occlumency, but to no luck.

Harrow frowned, turning to the empty seat in the otherwise full staff table. "I hadn't noticed it before. But he has been a bit more absent this year…" He looked unwilling to continue.

"Yes," Slughorn said gravely, "the man never ceases to be busy. Such irregular schedules."

"Well, I just been trying to find him but it's impossible."

The two remained silent on the matter, turning onto new topics of gossip. Ginny never thought the teachers were so interested in their pupils' daily lives. She thought back to her string of romances before Harry and blushed at the thought of Flitwick and Hagrid talking about it over their dinner plates.

After Slughorn left, Ginny passed Harrow her empty teacup.

"Harrow, what does this look like to you?" she asked with a wry grin.

He looked down, over exaggerating the intense stare. "I see a problem with your words. There's the letters B-I-L-L – perhaps try using my first name."

Ginny smiled humorously, "What does it really look like, Bill?"

"It looks like you were lying about practising spells."

"I think it’s telling us we're going late for class."

He noted the emptying hall and mumbled a "shit" before heading off. Ginny did the same, racing for the fourth floor.

After a few days teaching, she had set an established reputation of not being a push-over and a quite likeable. Her favourite class was of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs third years. The syllabus was fun and the students had taken a liking to her as much as she to them. Today, she had introduced them to a Boggart in a cabinet. It was interesting to see what fears they held: some feared snakes, werewolves, and spiders while others heights, failure, and a lack of control.

The one that had shocked the class was one student – a rather timid boy called Ted. When he saw his Boggart, there stood a grinning young man with blond hair and wearing purple robes: Grindelwald. The children held their breath in anticipation and fear at the visage. When the boy remained stock-still, Ginny stepped in and the man's nose and lips turned into a duck beak as he became covered in feathers. A gust of air released from the tense children, some breaking into relieved fits of giggles.

It seemed as though Grindelwald was this era's equivalent to Voldemort. This overshadowing, tense political edge to the class sucked the endearing atmosphere away into one more solemn.

As class had ended, she called for Ted Burgess to wait after class.

"I was wondering if we could talk about your Boggart."

He nodded, not looking up at her.

"If you'd prefer to do some work with me alone, I could try help you overcome your fear to produce your spell."

The Hufflepuff looked up at her, eyes fearfully wide yet a small smile tugging at his lips.

"That would be great," he nearly squeaked.

"If you-"

A knock sounded sharply at the door.

"Come in," she called.

There entered the last person on Earth she'd want to see.

"Please wait," she said, hiding her impatience.

She turned back to Ted only to see his fearful eyes locked onto Riddle, a bead of sweat creeping down his brow.

"Ted?"

He turned back to her, failing to fight back his grimace.

"When's best for you to do these sessions?"

"Um. Can we do it Thursday evening?" If possible, he sounded quieter than before.

"Sure. Just meet me here at six."

The boy bolted out the room. Ginny raised a brow. She needed to ask Ted what his relationship to the Slytherin was.

"You're quite early, Mr Riddle. Class doesn't start in another fifteen minutes."

"I hope you don't mind, Professor. Professor Dippet wanted me to deliver this." He bridged the gap between them, reaching into his pocket to hand her a letter.

Ginny accepted it, confused. Why hadn't the man simply spoke to her this morning at the table? And what would it be about? (She made a mental note to ask about how she could get in contact with Dumbledore, seeing the two were rather close.) Though, as she looked on its back, she saw a purple seal with a Hogwarts crest. She feared Dippet's trust for the boy. The fact that it remained sealed only aroused more suspicions.

"You didn't have to go through the trouble."

"Consider it a Head Boy duty," he remarked with curved lips.

Placing the letter on her desk, she began clearing up the class, rearranging the desks and chairs. She expected Riddle to leave but instead, he investigated the cabinet.

"I remember Boggarts," he said rather fondly. "Very amusing. Our teacher was scared of Flobberworms."

There was that silent question again. That prompt to share.

What do you fear?

The last time she encountered a Boggart was when she was thirteen years old. Of course, she had seen the boy standing in front of her. But that had been a long ago. While her fear of possession still persisted, as her ever-increasing anxiety of the Imperius Curse in the War proved, she knew it must have changed in those six years.

Instead of following his lead, she offered a chuckle. "One of my students was afraid of Cornish Pixies, you wouldn't believe."

Riddle offered a laugh of his own, circling the cabinet with interest. "I wouldn't believe, indeed. Fear is a curious thing."

Then suddenly, there was a yelp. Ginny looked on as Riddle fell into the cabinet. He managed to catch himself on a nearby desk but the cabinet tumbled down. After a resounding crash, the doors swung open. A dark flash was released and instantly morphed into a familiar grandfather-style clock. One hand labelled 'Ginvera' on MORTAL PERIL while the other eight hands hitting the same spot, a new addition since the War - DEAD.

" _Riddikulus_!"

The clock vanished and the Boggart ran back in the cabinet, closing the door behind it.

She turned to Riddle with an incredulously look on her face. "What happened?"

"Sorry Professor, my shoe laces where undone, and I tripped." Riddle looked bashful, and looked down as if in shame.

Ginny saw his words rang true, but she knew better. She hadn't answered his question so he brazenly dragged out the truth. She couldn't believe how petulant he'd been, causing such a scene to get his desired information. Ginny had to be more wary in the future. She needed to stop being alone with him all the time.

"Mr. Riddle, please tie your shoe laces and help me stand the cabinet up."

Ginny was struck by a panicked thought. She had forgotten to priorities her student's well-being. She walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder to complete the look of concerned teacher.

"Are you alright?"

He tensed under her touch but continued tying his laces. "Fine, Professor. I was just wondering if you were okay." He paused, looking up at her with eyes brimming with emotion. "That Boggart... I'm sorry if I brought up any bad memories."

While she was indescribably relieved that her Boggart was no longer her possessor, Ginny had wanted to wretch when she saw the Boggart. There was something deeply unsettling about it. Though, there was something equally unsettling in seeing such an emotive gaze from the dark pits.

"Yes. Well. It's not a problem," she replied shortly.

"Ginvera." He slowly said the word. "Is that you?"

Her heartbeat skipped, though she wasn't sure why. "I prefer Ginny."

"There was Percy and Arthur too. Haven't you read the Arthurian legends?"

Her smile was slightly genuine, slightly forced. "No, but you're the second person to say that to me."

Riddle seemed to take this response eagerly. "Professor, if you don't mind me asking, who were those people?"

Ginny hesitated, thinking of a lie. Having eight family members with names not written into history yet was impossible to explain. Well, she had to admit apprehensive admiration in the fact he'd noticed and remembered so much within that second.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have breached on such a personal topic. I promise it won't happen again."

Relieved by his misinterpretation, she gave a thankful gesture with easy sincerity.

When he had finally tied his laces, the two lifted the cabinet upright and moved it into the corner of the room. Afterwards, Riddle had sat down in his usual spot – within the centre of the room. Ginny had returned to her lesson plan, rearranging her notes. She felt his eyes roam over her with every movement, feeling her body itch under his inspection.

"Is that rumour true?"

Ginny didn't look over, rereading her notes. She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. Rage coursed inside. He knew exactly of that rumour. He started it.

"What rumour?"

"That you're dating Professor Harrow." Ginny thought she heard an emphasis on the word 'dating' in such an overly sincere tone it was almost tongue-in-cheek.

( _Less crude words._ )

"It's not appropriate to ask your teacher that," she continued reading, refusing to regard the boy in fear of letting the anger show, "yet can confirm it's just that – empty gossip."

There was silence for some time, and she had managed to get onto her third page when his voice echoed in the depopulated room:

"Ginvera was a manipulative, lying adulteress."

Ginny abruptly turned to the Slytherin, letting pieces of parchment slip from her fingers. Her jaw was slack as she finally looked at the boy, gazing into his black-button eyes. A pleasant, teasing grin erupted from the sight.

"In some Muggle accounts. Read Merlin, Morgana, and the Court of King Arthur in the Library; it's far more accurate."

It only just dawned on her that he was talking about the Arthurian tales. She gave an uneasy chuckle, displeased by the intentional pause between his words. The implication was insulting. Almost accusing.

"What cheek, Mr Riddle. I'll be sure to look into it."

Calling him that was supposed to make her feel more in control, suppose to assert her authority, but she felt the complete opposite when looking at him.

Because she saw that grin she saw in his Chamber.

The one she'd seen as he killed her.

Or, tried to.

Class began and ended in a haze. While her exterior had remained concentrated and controlled, her interior was collapsing. It was nerve-wracking under his surveillance the entire lesson. Like a Muggle painting, his eyes almost seemed to stare at her wherever she went.

After class ended, her day of teaching did too. Ginny was glad no one needed an afterschool chat, as she was able to turn her attention to the still unopened letter.

_Miss Weasley,_

_Please meet me in my office at 9:00 o'clock tonight._  
_I have matters to discuss with you._

 _Sincerely,_  
_A lover of 'Pumpkin Juice',_  
_A. Dippet_

Ginny didn't need an explanation for the unusual self-epithet.

* * *

 

Dinner rolled pass with an ever absent Dumbledore. Slughorn had taken to sitting next to her again, and Ourania remained on her right. The two were an interesting mix: heartfelt pompous and heartfelt bullshit.

Well, maybe both were heartfelt bullshit.

Ourania expressed a keen interest into having a divination session with Ginny to discover her 'spiritual essence'. Slughorn had chuckled at this and whispered to her, "Ourania has asked all the staff to do. It's deemed a rite of passage now." When Ginny gave into the offer to a vague "at some point", Ourania began interrogating her star sign.

"I don't know."

"Well, when were you born?" Ourania pursued.

"11th of August," she said, tactfully leaving out her year of birth.

"You're a Leo, ruled by the Sun star."

"Should have guessed it from the red mane," Slughorn joked.

Ginny thought about how dearly she wished to escape their company.

"Why's that?"

"Its astrological sign is the Lion. The Ancient Muggle Greeks thought it to be the Nemean Lion in Heracles' twelve labours."

Ginny really couldn't care less. Why was everyone here going on about Muggle myths when there wasn't even a Muggle Studies class?

When Ginny voiced the question out loud, the two teachers looked curiously at her.

Ginny frowned, "Well, there are some books to help wizards… but, shouldn't there be more than that? It just seems necessary for some people – like Ministry workers."

She thought back to her father and Percy.

( _Haven't you read the Arthurian legends?_ )

Slughorn faced warped into something of pride. "What a splendid idea! Why, I don't see why no one has thought of it before. Goodness, I got to get you to meet Sana Shafiq. She works in the Department of Magical Education. You could have such an interest discussion on it!"

Ginny gulped. Maybe she wasn't meant to say that.

Dinner ended around eight. She felt like she had been inspected enough that day. While Riddle had put her on edge, the overly eager pair drained her: one curious about her spirituality, while the other her credentials. Yet now she'd meet Headmaster Dippet… about what, she had no clue.

She sat in her room, willing herself to stay awake as she watched the minutes tick by. Ginny lied on her bed in a quasi-dreaming state until the hands reached ten to nine. She pushed her heavy body up and headed for the Headmaster's office on the second-floor.

The halls were empty, and she had passed two perfects – one of which she recognised to be in the seventh year class. She was the blonde Hufflepuff, Miss Jones. Giving a greeting, she couldn't help but wonder of the Head Boy's partner nights ago. He hadn't any.

When she reached the gargoyle, Ginny voiced the password "Pumpkin Juice" and made her way by the staircase, knocking on the Professor's door.

"Come in."

She did so to see the familiar décor of her old Headmaster's Office. A recognisable hat sat on a shelf as many portraits were snoring away. However, there was no Phoenix sitting on his perch, and a wall lacked portraits of Headmasters and Headmistresses yet to come. Likewise, the intricate instruments Dumbledore had adorned the office with were absent.

"Miss Weasley," he said, indicating to the seat on the opposite side of the desk. He was already sitting, looking through the various parchments and letters which scattered the desktop.

She sat, waiting for the teacher to address her.

He finally looked up at her after some time.

"I have some news on your memory," Dippet began.

Ginny stared keenly, waiting for him to continue.

"There are many methods but all of them hold no guarantee. Professor Dionne is looking into the first method – it involves some Ancient Ruin spells that have yet to be translated. It will take some time to make  
sure the translations are completely correct, as any slip could be fatal.

"The second method is Memory Potion that Slughorn is planning to brew." He chuckled at her concerned face. "Rest assured, he doesn't know why and will not ask nor tell."

Ginny knew this man and Slughorn were too easily deceived. Slughorn's tongue slipped out information quite easily.

"It may take him some time as the ingredients are rather rare. He does have the most important ingredient – the Jobberknoll feathers."

Ginny recalled her sixth-year potion lessons. "They're used in truth serum."

He nodded. "Once he gathers the ingredients, it will take at least one lunar phase to brew, and will be completed on the second lunar waning crescent.

"The final method is the something we rather not reduce to. I'm sure you're familiar with Legilimency."—Ginny's eyebrows rose—"It's a tool that can be used to recover memories. Like the other methods, there's no guarantee. Since it is such an invasive method, we hope to avoid it."

"Who would be the Legilimens?"

"That would be me."

Ginny settled into her seat in contemplation. Dumbledore had been her initial choice for Occlumency teacher, yet this seemed to be an opportunity falling into her hands. Dumbledore would live on for years with knowledge of the future if he'd been her teacher; the man before her was over 300 years. He was certain to die before her time.

"Sir, I wouldn't mind that method at all. In fact, I was planning on learning Occlumency at some point, so this seems to be beneficial on both accounts."

Dippet considered her for a moment, contemplating her words. Finally, he answered the girl: "I don't see why not."

"Thank you, Professor," Ginny called, overjoyed as a great smile illuminated her face. "When should we begin?"

"Saturday at 11 o' clock in my office. You need to be well rested."

Ginny left, turning in early for the night. Training could wait, as today had been eventfully exhausting.

Friday passed, and Saturday had begun. As on Thursday night, Ginny entered the Headmaster's office after a "Come in!"

He had cleared a space in the middle of his office, allowing space for the two to duel.

"Being an Occlumens requires a great deal of will power. Have you ever been able to resist the possession of the Imperius Curse?"

Hazy memories of rooster feathers, phoenix tears, and black leather flickered in her mind's eye. Of cruel laughter, a forced action, and blood.

"At times," she said.

"That's promising. Although a number of techniques are needed to master Occlumency, the first trick is to shut off one's mind. Clear it completely."

Ginny vanquished all thoughts and emotions from her mind.

"Focusing one thing helps. A good way is counting your breath. For every inhale and exhale, just count. Make it to ten before beginning again. A wandering mind loses count. It's okay if this happens, just start again and continue the cycle. Close your eyes need be."

Ginny began, closing her eyes and beginning to count her breath. At times her mind wandered but she caught herself, restarting to the beginning. After some time, she finally made it to ten and restarted. And this continued for some time, with successes and failures, until Dippet spoke:

"Did the counting work?"

Ginny nodded, somewhat dazed from the relaxing experience.

Dippet frowned. "The method is not meant to make you sleepy, Ms Weasley, but calm and focused. It's to clear your mind entirely."

"I admit, I am tired but I did reach ten."

"But not all the times," Dippet smiled. "Nonetheless, you did well. You will want that state of mind for the next step. To keep thoughts, emotions, and memories hidden from the Legilimens, you must keep your mind clear. Continue counting."

Ginny did, and after some time Dippet shot: "Legilimens!"

_She was dancing with her eldest brother Bill, standing on his toes as he stumbled about. It had been Molly's birthday party and all the relatives were there. Laughter filled her heart as the two "waltzed" around the room. Then, it darkened. She was sitting on a worn stool with an oversized worn hat on. It had instantly called out "Gryffindor!" Light returned, crystal blue light. A chill licked her sides as she danced with a boy. His brown hair swept back, he danced as thought with two left feet. Though what he lacked in charm he made up in friendship. She smiled at him, though her eyes wandered to a black-haired bespectacled boy, dancing with a very lucky girl. She was no longer in the divinely decorated hall, but in a corridor with two blonds. One stood beside her, clear-eyed and smiling as she sent a Bat-Bogey Hex at the other blond. The snarling boy had been calling Luna 'loony'._

Ginny managed to prevent the Headmaster from seeing anything more, pushing the man weakly out of her mind. Though he could have persisted, he showed no resistance to her lacklustre Occlumency attempt.

"That was a good first try. You need to remember that being an Occlumens is difficult and rare. The journey will not always be fruitful."

"Shall we go again?"

"Doing that will achieve nothing," he concluded. "You need to practise the ability to keep your mind clear. Make sure to do what I taught you without falling asleep! As for recovering your memory, I will attempt newer memories this time"— he grimaced—" and I just want to be certain you do not mind reliving those memories."

Her face was fixed.

"I know about the Sleepless Potions, Ginny."

"Whatever means necessary, sir."


	4. Examination of Table Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slughorn's first dinner of the term sets revenge in motion.

The first teaching week was over and had gone much better than expected. She was now able to begin her plot. Standing in the dungeons corridor, she paused to ready herself for battle. She had battled in heels and gowns before and could do so again.

She considered again Operation ‘Befriend Riddle’.

  1. Grin and bear.



This night was keep in beginning her plans into lulling Riddle and his peers into a false sense of security around her. For she was going to be:

  1. Gullible Ginny.



The trusting, charming, loose-lipped drunk. That’s what she was going to be. Easily manipulated with a vice of oversharing. If they’re going to gossip, let it be favourable. Delude his peers and delude him, but more importantly…

  1. Give him what he wants.



Every sensible question answered. Every invasive one subtly answered in its avoidance. Every intended manipulation working its magic. She would play into his hands, so he would play into hers.

Maintain the rouse and the plan will be in motion. It was as simple as it sounded. Well, she hoped as such when she knocked three times on Slughorn’s wooden door.

Swiftly, the door was opened to a very smartly dressed man. Already a tint pink from the half-finished glass in his hand, he offered his empty hand to Ginny.

"Gorgeous Ginny, it's a pleasure to welcome you tonight! You look magnificently regal."

Ginny took his hand and allowed a slopping kiss to grace it, fixing her face with a carved pumpkin grin. Discreetly wiping it on her midnight blue, speckled with shimmering stars, she curtsied playful at him.

"The pleasure's all mine, Horace."

She was crawling in her skin. How she regretted Harrow's refusal at the dinner invitation. He would have put her at ease.

Chauffeuring her into his "humble abode", Ginny walked into a lavishly laid out office, the likes of decoration she had not seen since Umbridge. Green ornately draped each available space in the room, from the tapestries and rug to the tablecloth. Among the colour were photographs spotted over his room like the castle brickwork, which she likely assumed to be successful students. Planks, awards, and newspaper clippings of achievements scattered the room. Most were not his own, living vicariously off his students’ fame. He was still the same old Slughorn, hoarder of pupils.

“Would you like a glass?”

Ginny didn’t hear him, still assessing her surroundings. His actual passion and calling of Potions brewing remained a minor note of décor. Potions cabinets were seen stocked in a variety of vials. One brewing potion sat on his windowsill, overviewing the lake.

“It’s rare to brew sufficiently without direct moonlight.”

“Nicely spotted. But I don’t think I’ll be offering that for tonight,” he chuckled.

Given her talk with Dippet, she could only assume that was one of the methods for recovering her memory. She was glad to see Slughorn’s tight lips and his ignorance in its purpose for her. She accepted the offered drink.

“Champagne?” Ginny confirmed. “Perfect, please.”

Slughorn led their way over to the circular table. It was nearly fully seated. Tom Riddle was sat beside who she assumed to be Yaxley, Nott, and unmistakably Malfoy. They were all talking and drinking very merrily. While his taste in décor had not changed a bit, this choice of company dramatically varied. The occupants of this room were mainly pureblood Slytherin men, influential and smart. Barring her.

"Well, now that everyone is here, let's get the pleasantries out of the way. As we are joined by our lovely new Ms Weasley, I'm sure she'd appreciate an introduction from those who don't already know her."

So, it began. Ginny took her seat beside Slughorn as she faced an empty chair. Acting under the spotlight, she perked up inquisitively and good-naturedly, assessing the room.

“If I’m the last, who was the empty chair beside me for?”

“That was intended for Lucretia Black, our Head Girl,” said the brawny Yaxley. “But she’s busy looking at marriage suitors.”

Ginny blinked. Another female was attending these events! But still, another Pureblood Slytherin with an influential name.

“I am Ellis Yaxley,” he introduced himself with his deep voice, as masculine as his physique. His brandy-brown hair was short and neat, and his grin held macho charm.

“Marvellous chap,” Slughorn interrupted. “and a great Slytherin Quidditch Captain. We’ve won last year from his great organisation.”

“I’ll be sure to catch you when the season begins,” Ginny noted with sincerity. “I am a big Quidditch fan myself, used to play it with my uncle.”

Slughorn looked shocked, quieting down. She turned her attention to the incredulous looking Malfoy, who seemed distasteful of the thought of a muddied woman on a broom. He quickly masked it, looking as cold as a younger Malfoy generation did. His long blonde hair was tied in a ponytail, dressed in pristine white dress robes.

He stood and offered his hand, silkily offering his name: “Abraxas Malfoy.”

Ginny stood as well, shaking it. “Pleasure.”

His dark-haired neighbour followed his lead, standing to shake her hand: “Brutus Nott”.

She kept standing after Nott sat, expecting a formal introduction from Riddle as well. She decided to offer her hand to him, taking the first initiative.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again more intimately.” He took her hand a shook it.

Ginny wasn't surprised by his reaction. She took her seat again, and if by cue, starters were magicked in front of them: marinated oysters. She was lucky she wasn’t so bad of a picky eater.

"Yes, yes," Slughorn cut off. "Now though she needs no introductions, I'm sure no grander an introduction than this is necessary to honour her. Let's toast," he raised a glass and the circle copied, "to Ginny Weasley, our exceptional new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Ginny raised her own glass, going along with the absurdity of such grandiose and gluttonous an introduction. She was not a celebrity! What was Slughorn thinking? Reluctance and embarrassment came easily, spotting her face an equal shade of pink to Slughorn's. She looked down, ready for the end of the night already.

"Pardon, Professor Slughorn, I do not mean to interrupt, " Riddle interrupted, "but before we ‘Cheers’ I think it best to teach our new Professor some wizarding customs."

Ginny's embarrassment intensified. Not only was this a subtle dig at her family name's wealth, but furtherly as her "half-blood" status. She looked to Tom, whose sincerity she guessed to be masking some sadistic satisfaction from her discomfort.

She softly grinned, furrowing her brow in confusion. "What customs, so to speak?"

Slughorn hiccupped and pointed to Riddle with a wagging finger. "Of course, Tom, you make a perfectly fine point. It seems you aren't accustomed to wizarding customs about toasting."

Even in Ginny's own century, this had never been a thing talked about, even in her mum's training of household chores and marriageable behaviours. Still, if this is what he expects from her - uneducated half-blood pauper - she'll give it to him.

"Enlighten me," she said, rudely propping her elbows on the table to balance her head and attentive gaze. They didn't stay there for long.

"Follow my lead," Tom’s authoritative tone gently prodded her elbows off the table. "Take your glass, raise it, and upon the toast maintain eye contact as you tap each respective glass. As tradition has upheld, when in the presence of someone of a higher position of respect than you, you cheer your glass lower than there's. Otherwise, you keep it equal. So, know when to level your glass at an appropriate height, and also look them in the eyes."

After mimicking his movements, he finally bridged the gap between their glasses over the table.

"To Ms Weasley."

He lightly clinked his lowered glass against hers as he gave her an unreadable stare. The others followed his suit, with unsynchronized toasts of varying enthusiasm. Slughorn would have every well broken his glass if they weren't enchanted.

Finally, Ginny nursed her parched throat, needing the liquid courage of the bubbles she once hated. Everyone started eating their oysters.

"Thank you, everyone. That was all very unnecessary though."

Yaxley chimed in. "Of course not! It is deserving of excellence teacher, especially one educated at home."

Ginny was shocked. She turned to a bashful Tom, rubbing the back of his neck with an aside glance at his fellow student. “I didn’t mean to gossip, but the boys were as curious as I."

Yaxley, much less confident than before, continued: "We were discussing cases of home education in our families. Such a rare occurrence is very curious, especially when the results are a witch of your calibre." He then hunched into his seat, taking a long sip of the celebratory drink.

Slughorn simply chuckled merrily. "It seems you have charmed your male pupils, Ginny."

Ginny took a long sip of her drink. It was a pause short enough for her quick thinking, but just long enough to create a stifled silence. They looked expectant for details as she placed down her drink.

"Well, given the nature of my situation, as you boys most likely already have dug up" – Yaxley looked even more bashful, hunching into his seat – "being that the situation of my lineage and the possibility of ruining the family name, I was home educated by my mother and my uncle."

Slughorn asked questions that hissed hushed on Riddle's tongue. "So why Hogwarts after your education?"

Ginny was quick. "My family wanted me safe, sheltered, especially in light of recent affairs"- she tried to briskly pass the topic of Grindlewald, trying her best not to kill the mood - "But, a girl has to earn bread and I’ve always craved experiencing magical school. Given my family’s history of being educated here, I thought no better a place to be. I also really do have a passion for DADA."

As Fred and George taught by example, confidence and consistent made a good lie. Mix it with a bit of truth and it’s all the more convincing. Her parents try their best to keep her safe during the war but justice called her.

"How marvellous! A woman in charge of her own callings in life. My, you don’t get a lot of those from purebloods. But I suppose you are a Weasley after all. Fiery inside and out."

Wishing to move the spotlight off of her, and start balancing the playing field. She knew Slughorn had intended this dinner to show off her to his favourite pupils and eventually vice versa.

"My, how I would have adored you as my student. Imagining a bright young woman in my class would’ve have been a delight and honour."

She blushed, out of necessity and out of pent-up giggles. Slughorn indeed did love her as a Potions student, when she was once one. "Please. You give me too much credit."

“My, I would have loved to have you in my house too. Yet Wesleys are always lions at heart.”

Tom interjected, with his curious tone. “Even still Professor, the hat can surprise us. What house do you imagine you would’ve you had been?”

Ginn considered the question after finishing her drink, which magically refilled. “When I was younger, I would have agreed with Slughorn. Nowadays I don’t know. The thing about the hat is it judges by potential, but doesn’t account for change.”

Riddle button black eyes shimmered, and for once there seemed to be depth to their coldness. “I suppose not.”

“She has the most marvellous ideas, doesn’t she?” Slughorn chortled merrily. “I’m arranging for her to meet Sana Shafiq, to showcase her ideas.”

“Don’t worry! Not the hat. Can't have Hogwarts without its sorter.” She speedily supplied to the dubious Slytherins. “Its the curriculum. We're limiting student potential and its stupid really.”

In reality, Slughorn had intended her to discuss a Muggles Studies class with the Department of Magical Education worker. Ginny didn’t exactly think was the wisest thing to reveal to the Slytherins, least of all Riddle. Luckily, Slughorn did not correct her.

Surprisingly, Nott questioned this. “Shafiq is quite… sure of her ideas. For the meanwhile, perhaps creating a sort of club would suffice.”

Ginny was shocked by such a suggestion. Nott seemed to be a quiet, intellectual guy. He looked otherwise. Even for the meal, he looked as though he had put minimum effort in his appearance, with his curly mop of brown and his ill-fitting clothes. But clearly, his encouragement of her ideas showed care for education. Though it was still early to tell, he was diligent in class as well.

She turned to Slughorn for approval. “Would a club be possible?”

“Certainly, I can imagine it now. A duelling club! Very fitting for enabling students to protect themselves outside Hogwarts! Well, inside as well – given last year’s affairs.”

She watched for the first time that night, staying true to being Gullible Ginny. Small smirks painted the boys, except Tom. He deceived no hint of humour. Ginny placed her first brazen move of that night, addressing Tom for a reaction.

“Slughorn informed me of your courageous feet. Surely that calls for another toast,” she hummed keenly, slurring with a false drunken state. She was blessed in these situations to have an easily pink complexion when drinking, despite not being at all drunk. “To Mr Riddle, a hero and the brightest wizard to have graced Hogwarts!”

Riddle was caught off-guard but was hard to read nonetheless. He only hinted a smirk.

‘ _Ahhh. Pride._ ’ She would stroke, waiting patiently for it to fall asleep purring in her lap. Then she’d snap its neck.

They all raised their glasses, mixed with a levelling of “To Tom” and “To Mr Riddle”. She observed his peers lower their glasses to his, and in turn him lower his glass to Slughorn, however when he reached Ginny his glare was unlike before. It was intense and ashen with some guttural emotions, of what alluded her. Their glasses clinked for a short, missable moment as he levelled his equal to hers.

That stumped her. Of course, his pride meant he was above everyone in the room in his eyes. But to get away unnoticed, why equal. Or even more, why do that in the first place? Was he not wholly convinced? Was he testing her? How was Ginny to react? A bumbling fool who didn’t notice, or in awe agree with his judgement? She decided the former was best for such delicate handling of a situation.

After such a focused beginning of the meal on her, the attention ebbed away to the other students over their three-course meal. Their starters were cleared away and replaced with some French stewed fish. She tried her best to keep note of even the most menial of details, but it was hard given the nature of the conversations. Slughorn was eager to catch up with each of the boy’s summer. With a clear order of favouritism, he began addressing Tom.

For the first time that night, she could openly look at Riddle without worrying about being caught out. He was dressed in classic black-white dress robes, fitted perfectly. Clean, prim, and more beautiful than ever. Ginny imagined her younger self seeing “her Tom” like this, and felt a stab of pity of the Hogwarts students who doted over Riddle’s charms. He was playing the perfect student, giving Slughorn his full attention and uncharacteristic buoyancy.

“So, how was the internship this summer?”

Ginny’s eyebrows rose. “Internship?”

“Really invaluable, thanks to your help,” Tom answered gratefully. “Internship at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Wow!” her shock was hardly fake. What was he doing there? That was the least expected place she imagined he would intern. She recalled him working at Bourgin and Burke, so was more expecting something in tune with that work.

“See, told you he was a Minister in the making!” Slughorn gloated, albeit harmlessly. “Did it enjoy it? Finding more of an idea of what you’d like to do after Hogwarts?”

“It was truly a fine experience,” Tom reassured. “But if anything, it’s made my opinions wider. Walking pass the other Departments every day, especially the Department of Mysteries, made me want to try each one.” He laughed at a trained momentum. "I suppose if I do choose Law Enforcement, Professor Weasley could help me?" He paused to drink, peering at her over his glass. "Afterall, your feedback so far has been extremely helpful."

“Who was your mentor in the end? I do hope Justus Greengrass was available.”

“Yes, he was my mentor. Luckily he was available in the end.”

Slughorn preceded to talk about Justus Greengrass as a Hogwarts student.

It was then she saw it. The shimmer.

Ginny spluttered, choking on her drink. Slughorn slapped her back hard and the boys stood up. She waved her hand for them to sit, as she magicked away her coughing fit – a house spell her mum had taught in anticipation of children.

He was wearing that ring. Was it a Horcrux yet? Would it be one anytime soon? She couldn’t believe how terribly unobservant she’d been. She shouldn’t have drunk so much. She was perfectly fine at acting drunk. Yet, she continued sipping at her glass.

After insisting she was fine, Ginny decided to take a lesser role in the conversation. He had moved onto Malfoy now, discussing the Malfoy’s summer (“ _Auction galas all summer. My obsession for magical artefacts is growing_ ”). When Slughorn moved onto Nott’s summer (“ _Find any literature rarities?_ ”) and his brother (“ _Did he get the role of an Unspeakable in the end?_ ”), her attention began to wonder. She was on her – was it her fourth? – glass of champagne. She looked down at the bubbles and frowned. Since her arrival here, she had had little time thinking about the past, about what had possibly happened, what was of her loved ones. The alcohol was making her melancholic, her thoughts for the first time finally turned to Harry. The temptation of not taking the Sleepless Potion to finally dream was heavy. She imagined him at those Slug Club dinners in her own time, dressed up and uncomfortable. Awkward. Finally noticing her. Then their kiss around their Quidditch victory. The urge to fly again was heavy, especially as she vaguely heard Slughorn discussing it with Yaxley. She knocked back another glass.

She spooned listlessly at her ice cream around, letting it melt as she stared at the grandfather clock. If only she could move those hands forward. She would get out of there and go back home.

* * *

Tom Riddle was unsure where to stand with his new teacher, Ginevra Weasley. So much screamed excitement: her intelligence in her youth, her shady family circumstances, and her skill in duelling. Yet she was feeble: her character was weak, she self-medicated with alcohol, and was unprofessionally having sex with co-workers (presumably). That was enough to write most off. And yet… something acquired his active interest beyond all these points, something he could not explain just yet. The dinner had only heightened this fact, finally having some intimate time with her and scrutinising her every movement and word. He wondered if her lying was compulsive or calculated. He would have to drag it out of her, sooner than later. He wasn’t very patient and did not like wasting any unnecessary time of things of little interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally picked this up. I was experimenting with writing longer scenes. Leave me feedback and let me know your thoughts! :)


	5. Green Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny tutors Ted Burgess how to face fear.

Ginny never really considered teaching as an option, barring maybe a Quidditch coach when she hypothetically started to age and the Quidditch Teams wouldn’t want her anymore. While it wasn’t on the top of her list of professions, it wasn’t all too bad. Ginny had to admit she was enjoying herself. It was nearly hitting the two-week mark, and she was easily starting to fall into a pattern. However, she started to notice a strange air of tension this week. Ginny hadn’t survived against countless Death Eaters without an innate danger detector.

She was being followed.

This wasn’t the first time either. It was an occurrence that had started a few days ago with an alarming frequency. Ginny had managed to evade them every time, not out of fear but out of caution of who they would be and what they may see. She used every shortcut she happened upon and would throw them off her path easily. Clearly, her stalker, or perhaps stalkers, were not as adventurous as her brothers were. She was glad none of them of yet could catch her.

Knowing she wasn’t far now, she turned the corner, allowing herself to speed up as she did so. Again, losing them by going through the portal from 1st floor to 3rd, she walked to her classroom, hoping that the young boy hadn’t forgotten their arrangement.

She need not worry. When she entered the room, she saw the yellow-donned cloak of the Hufflepuff third year.

“Good evening, Mr Burgess,” Ginny greeted. “I hope you don’t mind I’m a bit late.”

She wouldn’t have been if she had to have been followed. Circling to the shortcut had actually been longer than taking the flighty stairs.

“It’s alright,” his words were as light as breath. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

She was sure this was not his natural disposition, but a result of trauma.

She magicked all but two chairs into the corners of the classroom and pushed the cabinet into its centre.

“Shall we talk before we begin?”

They both sat. The boy was pale as a visage, and his blonde locks only washed him out further. He was stunted, looking more like a first year than a third. He looked as weak as the young Muggle-borns at the Final Fight.

“I’m going to be direct here. What makes you fear Grindelwald?”

His reflex was flinching. “I’m Muggleborn. What doesn’t?”

But she knew there was so much more to it than that.

“You are young and it is natural not wanting to face your fears, especially ones as big as Grindlewald” – his flinch had lessened – “but to quote what my Defence teacher taught me when I struggled with my Boggart: ‘There is no greater illusion than fear. And there’s certainly no greater illusion than Boggarts faking your fears.’” She remembered the pseudo-Madeye, realising Tom Riddle was her Boggart, had imparted her with some barking advice – albeit with some undertones of embracing the Dark Arts.

The meek boy surprised her with a scoff. “But what happened wasn’t an illusion.”

“So let it shackle you, even if it’s a fleeting fake from harmless house-pests?”

His crossed arms were high as he hunched, head down in submission. He screamed vulnerability and she had to wonder where Riddle fitted into all of this, given the boy’s fear upon seeing him.

“Fears plague you every day. Mine certainly does. But you stay strong. Best to come prepared for them than submit.”

He still looked down, unconvinced.

“Say his name.”

He looked up, wide-eyed.

“Nothing is going to happen if you say his name.”

He straightened his back, coughed, and pause. When it came out, it tripped and stuttered out: “Gr-Gr- Grindelwald.”

“Firmer.”

He stared at her, anger starting to brew behind his softly sunken eyes. “…Grindelwald.”

“Once more. Make it worth it.”

His stare was shocking for such a boy. The shackles of trauma had broken under the heft of his anger. “Grindelwald.” He loudly said through bared teeth.

Ginny stared at the boy with sympathy. She could scold him, in fact, she even perhaps should if she wanted to maintain her reputation and standing, but she knew he meant no harm. She was damaged before his age, like herself, like Harry, and there was no way she could punish him for this.

“I’m going to open the cabinet now. Get in position.”

She turned her back to open the cabinet and heard the chair scattered to the floor as he stood in anger.

“Why not magic it? Is it because of your muggle mother?”

Ginny turned, knowing she wouldn’t let that slip.

“15 points from Hufflepuff. That’s no way to talk to anyone, let alone your Professors.”

His anger fizzled, simmering under a lower temperature but still maintained. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

“Look, Ted, that anger is good but you need to direct it. Direct it into magic.” She carried on setting up the Boggart cabinet into the centre of the room. She released the Boggart and with surprising zest, the young boy shouted “Riddikulus”. The Boggart whimpered away inside the darkness again. Ginny blinked shocked, as the boy did himself.

“So, your technique isn’t the issue. It’s your attitude.”

He didn’t say a word.

“You’re not fooling anyone. Tell me what happened.”

Silence.

Ginny knew she should not be doing this, but he needed to talk.

“Look…” she shook off her robes and began rolling her jumper sleeves underneath.

The confused boy flushed in anticipation, edging backwards slightly.

“You’re not the only one with scars from Grindelwald.”

Her arms had received the brunt of the scars, as with most fighting wizards and witches. Their most valuable asset is their hands, after all. Of course, this was a result of Voldemort, not Grindelwald, but it wasn’t wholly lying. It was no secret Grindelwald’s influence on Voldemort. Maybe without his influence on Tom’s childhood, things would’ve been better, even if ever so slightly. Perhaps fewer scars.

He looked shocked, as his blush disappeared and he returned to his skin tone being wrung-out of colour.

“…He hurt my family, just before I got in Hogwarts. I didn’t even know about magic, I don’t even remember it properly. The Ministry had to obliviate me. But after the orphanage, and after the….”

Ginny empathy stalled at the word ‘ _orphanage_ ’, and her attention faded. While the Weasley’s had given her a big heart, it was charred with vengeance. Her mind raced at the possibilities that entailed.

“Well, if you need anyone, come see me. Or your Hufflepuff prefects or Slytherin Heads.”

His growing slight smile disappeared at her last of her sentence. “Slytherin Heads aren’t all that nice to Muggleborns like me.”

Ginny’s eyebrows rose in faux shock. Bingo. “What do you mean, surely given their positions they wouldn’t allow victimising students with their disgusting opinions?”

He looked reluctantly as if remembering she was a teacher.

“Hey, I’m no snitch! Besides, I’d need to witness it to do anything about it.”

After a thoughtful pause, Ted finally whispered into her ear, as if scared the walls were listening. “Let’s just say… our Head Boy is up to something that is far from his heroic status. I can’t say any more, but he used to live at one orphanage nearby mine, a few streets away. He’s not what he seems.”

Her suspicions had been confirmed. This boy knew the Riddle outside of Hogwarts. She never imagined a development like this.

“But, surely you can’t be living near a boy who upsets you and scares you? Why not report it?”

His eyes bulged at the suggestion. “No! No! Never. Not that I even need to anymore. He doesn’t live there anymore.”

She didn’t need to know why. That ring explained itself.

“He got adopted?”

He shook his head, urgently. “I guess. I don’t know. I’m just glad he’s far _far_ away.”

There was a pause and she knew she needed to shift back into her concerned teacher role.

Lightly gripping his shoulders, she levelled their eyes, “If anything happens between you and Riddle, come to me first. I won’t make it a Hogwarts issue, but I’m sure to make sure it's sorted.”

Fuck not changing time. Riddle would eventually die by her hands but she wasn’t going to let him menace over others if she could help it.

But he just simply nodded, reverting back to his hunched demeanour and head down.

“Hey, that’s no way to hold yourself. Change your tune and you’ll survive this all.”

She let go of his hand and started pushing the cabinet back into its spot. She spoke to him between huffs. “By the way, your question. About why I moved the cabinet by hand. I’m sure you’d understand this more than anyone here in Hogwarts, but magical folk rely too much on magic. We have bodies. We have fury. And an element of surprise. Training it little by little helps that.”

She turned to see him eagerly by the door, ready to leave.

“I guess this tutor session ended up being a one-off. But, if you do need to talk to anyone, owl me or come to my office and I’ll be about.”

He nodded.

“I’ll see you, next class.”

* * *

Friday swept away in a breeze. And yet, it had been the most unusual at her stay in Hogwarts in the two weeks since she had first taught.

It began with the reappearance of Dumbledore at the staff table in the morning. What was more, he had been present at lunch and dinner as well. We had been harrowed by Dippet, Dionne, and Harrow himself throughout the meals. Slughorn even found difficulty approaching the man, and she wasn’t one to follow in his – as she quite harshly judged it – pathetic attempts. So his appearance and disappearance remained a mystery, other than what she could piece from her “foresight”.

It followed later, when she left the main hall and wandered the castles, that she was no longer being followed. Not that day, nor the ones that followed. This unexpected hiatus, for she wasn’t sure it had permanently ended, had been a slight cause of anxiety for her. She wasn’t sure why they had stopped, so Ginny had to assume that she was no longer considered a threat, or that they are found what they were looking for. Ginny feared the latter.

Yet, it ended most bizarrely. Upon her sweaty return from her Room of Requirement training – which was making slow progress, albeit progress – she was greeted by an avian snowball. Smokey, ornate, and very large, this patience bird was waiting for its recipient, letter and parcel still within its hold.

_Professor Weasley,_

_Please do put me in my place if I have taken a misstep in my unprofessional approach. In my defence, your busy schedule alongside mine has made my few trips to your office unsuccessful. Professor Slughorn has me preoccupied with a potions project and his classes always follow yours, so not finding you in your office made it essentially impossible to chat with you in person. So, I hope you can understand why I have encroached_ _into this personal approach._

_Ellis and I courteously invite you to watch the Slytherin Quidditch try-outs tomorrow afternoon, immediately after lunch. I hope its circumstantial lateness is a reason for not attending. As Captain, Ellis is excited for a new perspective on Quidditch. We don’t expect any out-right pointers, as you are free from House rivalry, but we thought you would enjoy it all the same. You did say you liked Quidditch a fair bit. And it might help you decide which house you’d be sorted in._

_My father owns a bookstore in Knockturn Alley: Nott’s Nook. It’s an easy assumption but I assure you it’s a renowned and respected business, just with an unfortunate location. Ask anyone. Tom mentioned your interest in a book, so I thought I’d take the liberty of picking it out for you. I know this may border bribery, but its intended as a gift. I’m sure no one has mentioned to you but Defence has had a history of bad teachers since Grindlewald. The best are becoming Aurors, the worse what they can. Given this is my final year, I appreciate a fine teacher like yourself helping me prepare for the dangers outside these walls. So, this is really just a token of gratitude for your invaluable service as of yet._

_I do hope you keep the club in mind._

_Sincere regards,_

_Brutus Nott_

The dutiful owl waited for her response. She wondered how long it had waited. Back when they had their own family owl, Ginny had ready water and treats for the bird, but she was not prepared in this case and felt guilty. It must have been waiting a while.

She debated the letter.

Why Nott – why send a book? Under Riddle’s orders presumably, but it didn’t seem as simple as orders. They seemed to be a hierarchy, sure, but these boys weren’t lumbering cronies like Malfoy’s. They were smart, achieved boys of high standing, enough to catch Slughorn’s attention – and more importantly Riddle’s.

Why not Riddle himself?

Then it struck her. There was an illusion of democracy. They were the pre-Death Eaters, and Tom was pre-Voldemort. He didn’t have ultimate fearmongering power yet. And while she was sure they feared Riddle and knew him better than any other deluded soul, but they also trusted him. Companionship. Friendship. Trust. They were human, after all. _He_ was still human enough for that, she supposed, in their eyes. So with shared ambition but unmatched skill, the boys nominated Riddle. An illusion of democracy. Friends, not followers. Minster, not dictator.

Why not go?

Befriending him was easy when he, and his followers, were trying so hard to please her.

But was it too easy?

The letter had given her ample excuse – being “busy”, even though she was not. She had only been preoccupied in evading whoever stalked her.

But why not call her name to talk to her? Why follow silently?

She unravelled the parcelled book to a sickening sight.

( _Ginvera was a manipulative, lying adulteress_.)

Ginny had misjudged her reaction greatly.

Her avoidance had been an answer.

She had to go.


End file.
